


1969: A Day in the Life

by alba17



Category: Being Human
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-04
Updated: 2010-06-04
Packaged: 2017-10-09 22:09:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/92127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alba17/pseuds/alba17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing scene from 2.05. The episode starts off with a flashback to 1969: the morning after some wild party, Mitchell waking up to two dead girls and Herrick ordering him to clean it all up. This is what happened the night before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1969: A Day in the Life

**Author's Note:**

> **Beta**: The lovely and talented lefaym  
> That flashback scene is just fantastic, very dark, but also very funny - quintessential Being Human. And the song choices really make it. LOVE the music. The first song is _Venus in Furs_ by the Velvet Underground (sung by Lou Reed), from _The Velvet Underground and Nico_ (banana on the cover, produced by Andy Warhol). What sounds like a sitar is actually John Cale playing the viola. The second song is _I'm Into Something Good_ by Herman's Hermits. You can see the flashback scene here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dx0HhS-7K5w

It was all a blur, really. They'd been up to the usual shit around Bristol, and Mitchell was barely aware of anything, perambulating around behind Herrick like a sheep. Some business at a garage, then a couple of pubs, and a rather nasty incident in an alley behind a Chemist. Mitchell floated through it all. If he was handed a bottle, he drank it. If there were pills, he swallowed them. A lithe young neck bending to his will – fine and dandy. Whatever. Herrick pushed him and pulled him, this way and that, and it was all good.

Then there were a few hours barrelling down the motorway; Mitchell wasn't even sure where they were headed. He stuck his head out the window to feel the air blast his face; the whoosh of cold snapped him back into his body. With that came the awareness of something else, that bitter, creeping need that left his mouth thick, his limbs sluggish with want. Herrick caught his eye, those clear, crystal blue eyes that always knew, and Mitchell settled back into the seat, reassured.

A city, a stop at an off-license for a bottle of cheap gin, and a couple of birds acquired at a club, one blonde, the other blonder. Herrick lured them using the gin and the promise of something more, with that glint in his eye that some women found irresistible. Their flat was around the corner - what luck. The place was a swirl of colour: red Indian throws, blue hallway, busy red floral wallpaper, a bright green phone – that was weird, but things had been weirder than usual the last few years. Some hash was smoked and foul-tasting martinis chased down a few more pills; the girls thought it was all a gas, just a good time. Mitchell was glad to lead them on, twirling one of them – what was her name? Tammy? –around the room as "Honky Tonk Women" blasted on the stereo. Their hips ground together, and the girl playfully pulled on his tie, her head thrown back as she laughed, displaying the long, enticing column of her neck.

The girls went into hysterics over Herrick's stories, which nobody ever believed, but were mostly true. They fell on the sofa in endless peals of tight, high-pitched giggling, one head landing in Herrick's lap, the other on Mitchell's shoulder. Mitchell stroked the girl's bleached hair, brittle and brazen. Her green-blue eyes gazed up at him with unexpected trust; she looked not a year over twenty, despite the thick application of eyeliner and blue eye-shadow. The fresh, young pout of her shiny pink lips seemed unbearably delicate and fragile. Just for a moment, he felt perversely sorry for her. But the feeling was gone as he caught her scent, warm and alive, the pulse throbbing just under the thin, soft flesh – he could practically taste her. He tried to catch Herrick's eye; he didn't know how much longer he could hold out. He could feel himself slipping over the brink, overwhelmed by that heady aroma. Herrick shook his head at him in warning – _not yet_ – and Mitchell forcefully pulled himself back, shoving off the couch for a piss.

When he came back, the girls were dancing together to "Hey Jude," swaying with their arms around each other. Herrick egged them on to kiss, braying in that bullying way of his. Mitchell might have found it annoying if he could have been arsed to care, but he'd been listening to it now for decades. It was all part of the package and the insinuating tones rolled over him practically unheard. The girls were more or less hanging on to each other, pretty far gone at this point. There was more giggling and sloppy attempts at kissing in response to Herrick's cajoling, but it didn't go anywhere. Herrick huffed in disgust and stretched out on the couch, the relaxed pose at odds with the predatory watchfulness in his eyes.

The one named Tammy stumbled, slipping on some 45's on the floor, and her hand caught on one of the throws, pulling it down to the floor as she fell, still laughing, her lipstick smeared now from their messy kissing. The other girl guffawed, doubling over.

Mitchell watched, entranced by the colour smeared on the skin around her mouth and the neat, white rows of her teeth. Herrick noticed too, and his eyes, like Mitchell's, were glued to the girl's mouth as she sang along to the song. _Take a sad song, and make it better..._ The other girl turned up the stereo. _Better better better better..._ The girls screamed along with John and Paul.

Herrick and Mitchell laughed, exchanging looks. The atmosphere in the room shifted, as their observation gained purpose and energy, the temperature seeming to cool, the focus sharpening.

Mitchell slid over to Tammy and as she caught the look in his eye, she stopped singing and smiled. A small giggle escaped from her, like air from a soda bottle being opened, as if the life force within her was too much to contain. Mitchell put his hand on her stomach as he leaned in closer, a long, slow smile spreading over his face. She closed the gap between them and they kissed. She smelled of cigarettes and perfume, her tongue was bitter with gin, her breasts delicately firm as Mitchell cupped them. Everything was warm and soft and pulsing with life; Mitchell could feel himself getting hard.

Herrick sniffed around the other girl's neck like a dog in heat, chuckling low in his throat, then his hand disappeared under her skirt as he nipped her earlobe. Somehow both girls soon had their blouses off, an abundance of pale smooth flesh on display, and the world was reduced to the sound of sucking and licking, moans and grunts, the needle of the stereo bumping repeatedly against the end of the record, _thump thump thump thump_.

As he buried his face in his victim's hair, Mitchell heard a funny sort of sound and he knew that Herrick was preparing for the kill, baring his teeth, his eyes turning black. The girl was so gone by then, she just laughed; it wasn't unusual for their prey to think the changes were some kind of bizarre party trick. Certainly the truth was beyond the imagining of most of them, although you never knew these days. She giggled when Herrick grazed her neck with his teeth, then gasped in shock as he pierced her fine, white skin. He humped her, feeding, as the blood started to pour down her neck, his hand over her mouth to muffle her screams.

The sight made Mitchell breathless, need twisting in his guts, and he quickly buried his fangs in his own victim's neck before she could notice what was happening to her friend. He pressed his entire body into her, weighing her down so she couldn't get away, his hands scrabbling at her neck and holding her fast. He could hear her screams, but it was nothing compared to the feeling of sinking his teeth into her soft, yielding flesh, the blood spurting into his mouth, hot and satisfying, the knowledge that soon her life would be ebbing into his. The power he had – sometimes it scared him.

He almost swooned as he inhaled the fresh coppery tang of blood that now filled the room. He could never get enough of this: the taste of the blood on his tongue, the slightly viscous feel of it as it slid down his throat, teeth and lips working madly to get as much into his body as possible. This was life itself, everything this girl was and now would never be, he drank it down and took it in; it made him what he was. He owned her. Her pulse fluttered vainly against his mouth as he sucked.

It seemed to go on for hours, his mouth flush against her flaccid neck, as he slowly drained the life out of her. Mitchell was lost in it, his mind hovering somewhere above the scene, only aware of that crimson flow of life through his lips and into his veins. At some point, the girls grew quiet, first Herrick's, then Mitchell's. Herrick's mouth was filmed with red and Mitchell knew his looked the same. Blood covered more and more of the room, the bright red a gruesomely gay counterpoint to the decor. They hadn't been careful at all this time. If you pierced the artery just so, it wouldn't make such a mess, but they didn't give a fuck, they just wanted, and who the hell cared what the place looked like when they were done?

Eventually he drifted off, sated and needing to sleep it off, completely oblivious to the scene around him, the blood crusting on his chilled skin.

Just another day in the life.


End file.
